


The Merriest

by kototyph



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: A Little Christmas Interlude, Alcohol, F/M, Nebulous Season One, Period-Typical Sexism, We're Worried About You Holden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:42:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: “Blue. Now, that’s a nice color,” Bill says blandly, and Holden’s shoulders hike a little closer to his ears.





	The Merriest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poseidon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poseidon/gifts).



> Thank you for your thoughtful and very deep character prompts! I couldn't help but think that if Dr. Carr ever met Debbie, especially later in the series, she's pour on the charm and try to pull as much data on Holden as possible...

“Fine place she’s got,” Bill says. “For a rental.”

Holden stares down at the Formica tabletop, apparently fascinated by the fake wood grain. 

“Like the stripes. ‘Course, my wife does greens more than oranges,” Bill says, tapping out his cigarette on the ashtray between them. “Could take or leave both, myself.”

Hidden out of sight in the kitchen, there’s another burst of laughter from Wendy and a quieter giggle from Holden’s girl. Bill hasn’t heard a voluntary word out of Holden since they sat down at the table twenty minutes ago and she disappeared at Wendy’s invitation to help out with the meal.

“Blue. Now, that’s a nice color,” Bill says blandly, and Holden’s shoulders hike a little closer to his ears.

Personally, Bill is having a great time. With Nancy and Brian with her mother for the weekend, he had no further expectations for the evening than a Whopper and fries on the way home. Wendy’s bottle of Dewar was a surprise, and her sidelong glance inviting him to help drink the kid under the table even better, but the fun really started when the girlfriend— Diedre, Deborah, something like that— called into the office and started yelling about dinner and steaks and  _ what the hell is on that wall, Holden! What is that!  _ loud enough for even Bill and Wendy to hear.

Bill has grudgingly allowed himself a lot more respect for the study of psychology as a whole since meeting the good Dr. Carr, but he really has to hand it to her— she’d looked at Holden, looked at the phone, and smiled like a fox finding loose wire under a chicken coop.

“You know, I’ve been thinking of having some colleagues over for dinner,” she said, excruciatingly polite and oozing empathy while Holden flailed at her, trying to get the receiver back. “It is Christmas, after all. We’re so sorry to have held Holden over— let us make it up to you?”

Wendy’s place is nice to look at— totally unlived-in, but nice— and Wendy a perfect hostess, which is why it’s so damn funny to see Holden curling up like a pillbug the longer the two gals spend twittering away at each other over new steaks and potatoes. 

“Relax,” Bill drawls, taking another long drag on the smoke. “I’m sure they’re not at your bed habits yet. That’ll take at least another ten, fifteen minutes.”

Holden gives him a look of such wilted resignation that Bill chuckles and nudges the Dewar at him, even though the ice in their glasses melted ages ago.

He’s been worried about Holden, to tell the truth. There’s some quote he’s not quite remembering all of, about abysses and how they stare back at you. Bill sometimes feels like there’s a layer of filth clinging to everything they work on in the lab, a film that doesn’t scrub off easy and builds on itself the longer he stays and stares and starts to see the patterns of the work they’re doing. 

Wendy he trusts to know herself, even through the grime. Holden is a different story, and there’s been something settling behind his eyes that Bill instinctively distrusts, even as he realizes it’s what’s taking Holden through the twists and turns they need to make this thing. 

There’s nothing of that agent in the man who almost cringes away when Deborah-Diedre swings her way out of the galley hallway to set a bowl of greens next to the ashtray.  “Oh my God, sorry, I didn’t realize how long we’d been in there. I’ll promise I’ll come out in a minute and meet you properly, Mr. Tench, we’re just getting things on trays.”

“Take your time, honey,” Bill says with a tip of an imaginary hat, and Deborah-Diedre smiles sparkling and wide before going back to the kitchen.

Holden hunches further in his seat, momentarily giving him the posture of a dog wiping its ass on the carpet, and grabs for the scotch with purpose. 

“Don’t guzzle like a damn Cadillac. Savor,” Bill says as Holden pours a plug that nearly overflows the glass. “Jesus. Gimme that.”

“Easy for you to say,” Holden mutters, but slides the bottle back across the table.

“You know, I was joking about the bed thing,” Bill says, pouring himself a neat eighth. “They’ve already gone there, back, and all around. Next time you ask for a kiss you’re going to get a Helen Reddy album to the teeth.”

“God, Bill, please shut up,” Holden says, which is right when Wendy comes out with the steaks and crispy wedge Yukons and a Deborah-Diedre beaming with suppressed laughter.

“This is wonderful,” she enthuses when they’ve all arranged themselves and are starting on dinner. There’s a significantly larger steak buried under all the others and Holden is too miserable to challenge Bill for it when he shimmies it out and onto his plate. Wendy has probably extracted everything from his flossing habits to tuck preferences and Bill is basking in the bright light of schadenfreude as much as the warm glow of the Dewar. “You have to tell me, how did you all meet?”

That’s not a tale for polite dinner conversation, anymore than the bloody dismemberment splashed across their office walls are, and Wendy expertly steers the conversation towards her experiences moving to the city, a cat in the basement, and oh, were the two of them planning to get a little house anytime soon? She could recommend some neighborhoods from her own search— 

“Dr. Carr,” Holden says plaintively, visibly red from either drink or mortification, and Deborah-Diedre giggles again. The Dewar gets set on the serving hutch and a long slim bottle of wine appears, uncorked like magic. 

“Holden,” Wendy responds. “I can’t believe you’d wait— Debbie has been so lovely, I can’t believe you’ve been keeping her a secret this _whole time._ ” 

Debbie blushes, which Bill watches with a keen sense of hilarity. She says, “Oh, Dr. Carr, thank you, but really you’ve been too kind,” and Holden sinks far enough into his chair his chin is in danger of sitting in his steak. 

“Nonsense. I can’t tell you how delighted I am we finally we had a chance to meet you,” Wendy says. “More wine?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Debbie says, the red in her cheeks a perfect match to the crimson in Holden’s.

Wendy gives them a little time to load up forks before saying, “So, Holden. Debbie was just telling me you’re starting to build a little collage at home?” and Bill has to duck his head and rub a hand over his mouth to hide the smile.

  
  



End file.
